Lots n lots. Bad news first: Jake Adam York isn't alive anymore. He read at friggin Dino's like six months ago. A personal blow as disbelief as things don't add or cohere so this proof. Dang dang, and more dang.
Finished Marjorie Perloff's"Dance of the Intellect," a collection of essays written some twenty years ago, but poetry, you know, stays news : poetry criticism stays it too. Also sheds light on the passage of time toward developing/defining genre/coterie within poetry. I always enjoy reading her writing on writing.
Also did Cole Swensen's "Goest," of which the second portion, "A History of The Incandescent," is a magnificent sure eccentric adventurous semi-factual engagement of some various historical narratives on the inventions of light/(s).
Monstrously chic liberated art diva Ellie Caudilldid up Main Street Gallery over on the eastside ( events every Friday, apparently ). Hot wine, styrofoam, color, cocorosies, funschtuff.
Does one theory about a work? One can, one may, but one abolishes something in the discussion, discussion is the gradual abolition of mystique, mystique the hope for unsolvable connotation, endless emotional/psychic dimension, a singular response unquantified, enables the encounterer of art to assume a responsibility ( as translator-missionary-scout) and become as the artist. Some art resists, and some artists make their art resist.